“Will he live?”

“Not know, him cut bad.”

“Have faith in the mending hand of the fertile earth. The Gods would not deliver him if he were meant to die this day.”

The voices were almost soft whispers. There was obviously the scent of concern, fear and anger mingled among those who stood above him. His breathing was still shallow and from somewhere deep in his chest there was still an intense pain that reminded him of what occurred:

He lay there, slowly blinking away tears as blood and bile began to form in his mouth. A wounded creature, he knew the cycle would begin again with his death. Vultures and predators of prey would pick his corpse, leaving nothing but empty eye-sockets of a void once filled with the pleasure of the precious gift of life. There was a tremendous flash of fire and the lingering smell of sulfur and smoke were reminders to him in his final hour. He dimly noted his frame being dragged by a slender hand and a feral claw. Aha! He was now being hefted, by a massive figure almost his size. He body jerked spasmodically and through blurred vision he noticed the ground was moving beneath him. Ash covered what appeared to be a forest floor and he was moving at a tremendous, yet labored pace. What remained of the yelling was left behind as he continued to be jarred upon the shoulders of this figure. During this time, he thought about how soft the wind felt upon his face. Those were his dying thoughts.

“The wounds have been healed and his lungs mended. Any longer and he may not have survived the assassin’s strike.” A slender wood-elf stood above the enormous figure, placing delicate hands on the forehead of the giant. Ralicazin was concerned. The debate had begun about the course of action to take.


Suilvanum naturally took the lead of the pack as their grizzled Captain recovered. The wake of the war was devastating. Of course the village managed some minor victories, but in the larger scale of the war, the Warders hunted like a pack of wolves. They were accurate in their strike, patient in their hunt, overwhelming in their numbers and simply too evasive to fully defeat. Amazingly, after the initial showings of the War, the Chantress of Battle was named a Commander of this new war. Her songs roused the spirits of those who sojourned after legendary wizards or those who had heard of the ferocity of these wolves and decided that they would take no part in this carnage. Eventually, these very songs rallied new recruits to seek the village huts. Though they entered an unfamiliar territory of a war faught by calculating creatures. Lor along with Charqua and Bastier were among the young warders or woodland allies who steadily massacred young villagers who dared take part in the forest burning. They often invaded the village and slew the young, retreating with relatively no opposition. The recovery of the Warder Captain led to even more village casualties. If before his defeat he was known to be ferocious, he was ten times this once he recovered.


...And soon the feral Commander of the village was seen again among his people. Frayed hair and protruding canines were the result of his own sojourn. Beside him walked another, younger felar whom had become familiar with the ways of war, another who had made a place in the village. Glancing about the village huts, Loborguz noticed the familiar signs of war. Yet instead of sorcery, these signs were of skirmishes, far different than the usual. Motioning to Sehvoor, the Commander made his way through the village road, the absence of young barbarians was unnerving but again familiar in times of war. The ground soon became layered stone and the scent of herbs was prominent in this area. There was movement everywhere. A lean avian was directing young villagers to boil water and bring more herbs. Carefully he would wrap the herbs in cloth and use his dagger to apply and clean the wounds of the dying. Goapa lay upon the warm stones, his body bloodied and almost beyond recognition. Still there was that familiar grin as if the young thief had still gotten the best of his enemy. Loborguz noticed that the breathing of the thief came shallow and he pushed Sehvoor towards Armitage.

“Go en help ‘em bub.”

Armitage lifted his head and shook it in dismay as he saw Loborguz approach.

“Commander, things bode ill upon your return. Nerylana nearly died two days past. We managed to stop the bleeding from her legs and stifle the wounds that became infected, but she is weak. Still, she has managed to gather herself and study this new enemy within the War room.”

Loborguz snarled to himself, considering the words.

“Casualties bub, I ain’t fer hearing the good news yet.”

Armitage nodded, holding up three talons.

“Three have died, Goapa nearly followed them but managed to survive barely. Ralgor is badly wounded. Rays of the sun scar his body and the salve I’ve managed to offer him has only managed to stifle the pain.”

Again Armitage looked concerned.

“We are running short on Defenders Commander, and even shorter on men who can scout out this new enemy and effectively fight them. “

Loborguz nodded and made his way towards the War room. There he found Nerylana, deep in contemplation. They discussed the war, the consequences of it and the current results. Nerylana discussed how Jugynheim was assassinated, though his body was not found after the initial skirmishes of this war. She explained how the warders demanded the fires be put out and how she among other villagers declined the demands. She explained how lumberjacks were found butchered and priests hacked and how neither side would budge in their beliefs.

...thus, the war continued to rage. Loborguz given another to help him command and the warders showing a constant vigil in what little foliage was left of the dwarf forest. Often times villagers would step outside only to find vines and wild trees growing outside upon the breaching walls. Villagers would also come to know that the areas that were prolonged by the burning often held numerous warders waiting, calculating their strikes. In these places the ambushes would be severe, taking more barbarian lives. The Noldarian were requested to burn the foliage and it soon became a smouldering inferno, unbearable by both villager and warder. There were attempts, also by the warders. Many ignored the fires and focused on those who started the flames. They hunted with precision and unmatched fury. It was soon discussed among the warders that perhaps there was a way to diminish the fires. Natural and magical springs alike were routed towards the fires, yet these springs did nothing to stop the unmatched fury of the fire. It is even said that a tribe in Ysigrath was approached, to help extinguish the fires. The tribe declined, knowing what would result if they waged battle with the village.

Thus the battle lines were drawn and Loborguz vowed to show these Sylvan why he was named the Iron-Clawed Commander of War.